


Better Things To Come

by averageclawenfangirl



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Claire does her thing at Jurassic World, Clawen, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Owen trains racehorses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6930526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averageclawenfangirl/pseuds/averageclawenfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on: “Imagine Person A is a farmer. A rides horses, ploughs fields and raises cattle. Person B is a total city slicker. Person B is on their way to a family member’s house when their car breaks down in the country. A helps them out. A offers to cook lunch for B because they’re hungry and there are no nearby restaurants. B meets A’s horses on the way to the ranch house. B eats farm fresh foods for the first time, and A is totally infatuated with B. What happens next is up to you. Bonus: Person B’s car can’t be repaired until the next day and there aren’t any nearby hotels.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while, because it seemed to fit Claire and Owen so well. As usual, some of it differs to the prompt, but the basic outline is the same. I’ve decided to split it into parts, two or three at most. It’s a little angsty, but hey; with these two, it all becomes worth it!

_“I was a city he passed on his way home. He was a country I wanted to live in.”_

She flipped down the sun-visor once more, checking that her bangs were still neatly in place. Which, of course, they were. Claire Dearing didn’t settle for anything less than perfect, in _any_ aspect of her life. Her years had been set in routine; almost every waking moment dominated by the tick of a clock and a place she had to be. Being the Operations Manager at Jurassic World allowed for no mistakes, and after five years at the top, Claire still hadn’t slipped. 

_Was she too harsh on herself?_ Karen thought so; her older sister constantly complaining that Claire was working herself into an early grave. It obviously didn’t occur to her that Claire thrived on the pressure; she adored showing the men in the old boys clubs what a woman was capable of when you gave her the chance. She was in love with her job: a full time occupation. There simply wasn’t time to consider anything else.

Her flight tickets and hotel reservation sat neatly in her holdall on the passenger seat, early morning Kentucky flying past her rental car windows as she squeezed the gas a little harder. Claire ran through her mental itinerary for the coming twenty-four hours: _Drop car off. Arrive at motel. Dinner. Sleep. Airport._ Of course, all the details were written down on an actual document, safely stowed away with the rest of her important papers she’d brought back from the convention.

Simon Masrani himself had requested her presence at a convention regarding bioenergy, something the state was heavily investing in. Masrani was insistent on making Jurassic World as efficient as possible, and Claire was in no place to turn him down. Though, she felt she could’ve tried a little harder to when she discovered he was leaving her alone for a day; apparently on ‘ _other errands_ ’ before he’d meet her at the airport. She’d shrugged it off. Claire was good with people - business people. Her passion was facts and statistic; the impersonal poetry of numbers and graphs. She’d bid them farewell that morning; confident that the sponsorships would roll in when the next season came around. 

It wasn’t that Claire didn’t know how to talk to people – you didn’t get anywhere in corporate business without being able to make connections, and form long lasting partnerships. Claire knew when to lay it on thick when it was what they wanted to hear, but she knew how to cut the crap, too. It was when the shop talk ended, and the managers and moguls kindly asked after her family, what she enjoyed to do in her spare time, her passions outside of work. _That_ was when she tended to almost lose face. Claire was torn; sure, she enjoyed her independence. She knew there was nothing wrong with her lifestyle. But there was a nagging thought that refused to die; it haunted the hours of the morning where she’d toss and turn in her queen size bed alone. Did she want something – _someone_ \- a little different? To try something risky, exciting? Did she want something _dangerous_? The thought bubbled inside her conscious again, fleetingly, as Claire’s fingers gripped the wheel a little harder.

//

_No_ , Claire muttered to herself angrily, _dangerous is not what I want_. She crouched down carefully to inspect the piece of metal seemingly hanging off of the bottom of the car, the front left tire flat against the tarmac. Claire had felt the vehicle crunch into a hole in the road, and thought nothing of it until it veered to the left, dying slowly as she began to panic. She’d at least managed to pull off of the main road and down a fence-lined track, making it halfway until the engine had sputtered and given up. 

Claire weighed up her options. The car was going nowhere, so should she try and thumb a lift from somebody back out on the highway, or see where the track lead her? The road didn’t look particularly frightening; glorious green trees overhanging it, meadows lush and in bloom either side. If there was a house, or a farm, at the end of the track, she could use somebody’s phone to call a cab, or a mechanic. _Right?_ Her cell, predictably, had no service, and she cursed herself inwardly, allowing a little stamp on the ground in frustration at her predicament. _Breathe, Claire,_ she reminded herself. _You can still get this back on schedule._ Dragging her holdall from the passenger seat and setting it down on the wheels, she began to walk purposefully down the winding road in front of her.

//

Claire cursed loudly as her heel snapped beneath her; sending her ankle rolling across the stones. She had another pair of shoes, but it was besides the point. The track still stretched on a little further in front of her, and Claire could see a barn rising up between the trees. She was miles from anywhere - that much was certain. She could only hope the owner of the house would be accommodating. Wincing a little in pain and snatching her broken Blahnik from the ground, Claire placed it back on haphazardly and marched onward. Sweat trickled down her back, her suit was getting dirtier, and she could feel her hair beginning to frizz. At last, the shadow of the structure loomed in front of her. She couldn’t even guarantee that anyone lived there - it looked pretty desolate, and probably only used for animals. Nerves began to snake in her belly as Claire considered her predicament. _Typical. Just typical_ , she seethed inwardly. Her thoughts, however; were completely derailed when the heavy barn doors opened. 

A man, leading a horse, came through them. “Come on, girl,” a soft voice floated on the wind in her direction. The horse was a beautiful grey; an impressive animal to look upon. The man beside it, however, was even more interesting. Dressed in jeans and boots, wearing a faded Henley, his skin was deeply tanned. His hair was dark and dirty blonde; it crept down scruffily past his jaw, too. His muscles rippled underneath his clothing as he walked towards her; eyes still fixed on the animal, unaware of her presence. His arms looked as though they could crush a man in an instant; but he was showing such tenderness to the horse beside him, large hands calming and guiding. 

Claire cleared her throat; unsure whether she felt it was the best way to make an introduction, or if it was just because she was otherwise lost for words. The man’s head lifted at the sound; and Claire was met with the most intensely green eyes she’d ever seen, set back beneath a powerful brow in a weathered, handsome face. “Uh, miss?” He enquired, tilting his head a little. “Can I help you?” Claire’s first thought was that the man must be a moron. _A beautiful moron, but still_. She was wearing broken shoes, dirt splattered on her suit, sweating profusely, hair curling wildly. She probably looked as though she needed all the help in the world. “A phone,” she blurted out, “If you have one,” she added, feeling like a fool. “Uh, sure. Just give me a sec,” he said, nodding to the horse. Claire’s eyes followed the man as he led the horse away from her, impressed by the decent size of the stabling block. He was back within a moment, tucking his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You wanna come inside?” He asked, throwing a shoulder in a direction of the barn. Claire nodded, and followed him dutifully.

//

The ceiling of the building was high, and Claire watched the dust floating in the beams of sunlight for a moment as she cooled down in the shade. The barn was airy; hay littering the ground, though it wasn’t untidy. The man in front of her was busy at what seemed to be a workbench; tools and tack lay scattered across it, rosettes, trophies and photo frames adorning the upper shelves. Claire’s curiosity grew. He turned back to face her, cellphone in his outstretched hand. “Here. The name’s Owen, by the way. Owen Grady,” he said, eyes crinkling a little as he smiled. Claire felt herself smile in return; slightly charmed by his formality and rugged looks. Clearly, she’d been surrounded by middle-aged, suited men for too long. “I’m Claire Dearing,” she said, taking the phone from him. “My car broke down just off the highway back there. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to call a mechanic, see if they can come take a look.” Owen shrugged. “By all means, go right ahead. I’m not sure how much luck you’ll get,” he murmured. “What do you mean?” Claire asked, trying to ignore the panic simmering in her stomach. “We’re pretty far out. It might take a little while for them to get here. You got anywhere to be?” He asked. “Not until tomorrow,” she sighed. Owen considered for a moment, wiping his hands on a rag. “The number of the closest guy should be in there,” he said. “Give it a try.”

//

Claire twisted the phone around again and again in her hands, chewing her bottom lip hard until she drew blood. _Nine o’clock. As in, the evening._ That was the earliest the closest workshop could send somebody. It was 10am right now. Cursing inwardly, Claire made her way back inside the barn, to find the mysterious Mr Grady tending to another horse, another incredible looking animal, almost black in colour. “Thanks for letting me make the call,” she said, handing the phone back to him. “No problem. They can’t get here till late, can they?” Owen chuckled, Claire clearly having given too much away with her flat tone and sour face. His eyes were the most ocean green she’d ever seen; laughing at her from the recesses of his golden face. She hated it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, lips still twitching as he moved to adjust the holding collar over the horse’s nose. “What exactly is it that you _do_ here, Mr Grady?!” Claire asked incredulously, irritated by his sudden arrogance. She took in the tack hanging from almost every hook; orange cones in one corner, wind-chimes in another, among many other strange things. “Aside from raising the cattle, I breed and train racehorses. My methods are a little unorthodox, but my family have been doing it for over thirty years,” he murmured, suddenly beside her and much too close for comfort. He smelt of leather; sweat from working under the sun, mint from perhaps his toothpaste, and something she couldn’t put her finger on… She moved away hesitantly, his presence slightly overpowering.

“That’s… _Impressive,_ ” Claire said, as he watched her with an expectant look on his face, hands on his hips. “Thankyou,” he replied, almost immediately. _Impressive as you are humble,_ Claire smirked to herself. “Well, we got a lot of time to kill. You hungry? I could always fix you a bite to eat,” he shrugged, and Claire found herself nodding, her belly growling, ignoring the voice in her head warning of stranger danger. _Well, she’d never had parents to drum that in to her. Something was telling her that she was safe here,_ Claire mused as she stretched out a hand to rub the horse’s nose softly. It was like velvet beneath her fingers; the animal’s beautiful, bottomless eyes blinking in her direction. “That would be nice. Thankyou, Mr Grady,” Claire mumbled, momentarily transfixed by the horse beside her. “Not a problem,” he said. “And call me _Owen_.”

//

Owen led the way out of the barn. “You need any help there?” He asked, motioning to her case and broken shoes. Claire shook her head, declining any assistance, ignoring his raised eyebrows. Rounding the corner, Claire came face to face with a truly stunning house. It looked almost to be all on one level; painted white with grey slate roofing. She could see a veranda out front, various decking chairs and plants scattered here and there. It was gorgeous; bathing in the early morning light, the meadows and white-picket fences in the fore and background almost making it a scene from a Hallmark card. “It’s _beautiful_ ,” Claire breathed aloud, and Owen chuckled, leading the way in front of her. “Ain’t bad, is it? I do my squats every morning,” he laughed; and Claire flushed red, glad he couldn’t see her. She rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. Owen fumbled with a large set of keys for a moment before beckoning her inside, and led her through the hall to the kitchen. Despite the rustic look of his house from the outside, Owen’s kitchen was all silver and granite slabs; glass-fronted cabinets, expensive-looking appliances, large cooking island in the middle, chairs dotted about in a homely way. It was then that it occurred to Claire: his wife, and/or children must come up in conversation soon; a quick anecdote that they’d be off the school bus or home from work, and Owen would make the introductions. 

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Claire took a seat and cleared her throat. “So, uh, how many of you live here?” She asked. Owen turned, from where he’d been busy at the countertop, his expression unreadable. “It’s just me,” he shrugged, and Claire’s eyes flitted to his left finger, bare with no concealment of a wedding band. “Been that way since my father died, and my wife left me. I’ve got a few local kids who help me in the mornin’s with the farm, but that’s about it,” he smiled, a little sadly if Claire wasn’t mistaken. _His wife left him?!_ “So, is there anything you won’t eat? Allergies? That sort of thing?” He asked, opening the refrigerator. She told him she had no objections, and he got to work, Claire watching him intently every step of the way.

//

“How’s it taste?” Owen asked, somehow squeezed onto the barstool beside her. It was a mean feat, nobody would deny that. His thighs looked to be made out of rock or something; thick cords of muscle roped around them, concealed by the denim. Claire nodded slightly by way of an answer; distracting herself, taking another bite of delicious lobster. The food was sensational, but she wasn’t about to let him know just how good it was. Something told Claire that Owen was a man whose ego could be seen from space, and she wasn’t in the business of fattening it any further. “What exactly is it?” She asked. “Grilled lobster. Obviously; you’ve got your salad, mayo, all of that, too. No big deal,” he shrugged, spearing a large forkful into his mouth. _He’s a little like an animal himself,_ Claire thought as she watched him devour his meal with gusto.

They sat in silence for a moment, chewing their food and processing their thoughts. “So, are you going to tell me just how a lady like you ended up at the end of my drive?” Owen took a swig from his glass of water. “I was driving back from a conference, and my car hit a hole in the road,” Claire pushed the few salad leaves she had left round her plate. “I know _that_ , princess, I heard you on the phone,” Owen rolled his eyes, collecting their plates and moving to the sink. Claire bristled a little at his tone, not enjoying the sarcasm at her expense. “What I meant was: you couldn’t look more out of place if you tried,” Owen turned back to face her; resting against the counter, gaze travelling over her now creased white Prada suit, her lilac shirt, something she wished she could tug a little closer to her. Her battered, beige Manolos and Louis Vuitton case on the countertop beside her bore the brunt of his scathing gaze, too. “Is that a _bad_ thing?” Claire countered, raising an eyebrow at his words. “Not in the slightest,” he shot back, “I’m just a little concerned that you’re gonna get bored here.” Claire rolled her eyes, drumming her dead cellphone against the counter. “I can get my hands dirty if need be, Mr Grady,” she shrugged; pulling her sneakers from her case. He grinned. “What is it that _you_ do, Ms Dearing?” Owen folded his arms, one over the other, watching her expectantly.

Claire exhaled; wondering what would be preferable, the truth or a lie. She’d known this man for the best part of an hour – there was no need for him to know that she was, in actual fact, Park Operations manager at the most infamous theme park in the entire world. Jurassic World had occupied her years for what felt like a lifetime, and Claire wasn’t sure she _could_ actually create a convincing lie. That, and the way Owen was still watching, waiting; making her feel as though he could see straight through her. She knew it was irrational, that those green eyes weren’t as knowing as they seemed. Claire ignored it, either way. “I’m the Park Operations manager at Jurassic World. I have been for five years, since Masrani Global reopened the park,” she sighed, waiting for the barrage of questions, the nasty remarks. She’d heard it all.

What Claire hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the radio silence on Owen’s part. “Jurassic _World_?” He asked, his face contorted with confusion. Claire felt the strangest urge to smooth out the creases in his brow. She shook it off hastily. “I thought it was Jurassic Park? Didn’t that close down like, twenty years ago?” His tone told Claire he wasn’t making it up. The man genuinely had no idea. “No, uh, after John Hammond’s death, it was sold to Simon Masrani of Masrani Global. It’s been open and fully functional for five years now,” Claire said, and Owen’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. He shook his head, sighing heavily, something muttered under his breath. “Is there a _problem_ here?” Claire asked, feeling her temper flare a little more. “Why are some people _incapable_ of learning from their mistakes?! People just continue to merrily fuck with things that they shouldn’t,” He scoffed, throwing his hands in the air and turning back to the sink.

“What are you _talking_ about?” Claire stood from her chair, incensed by his words. This man was an _outsider_ ; a stranger, judging her entire life’s work before he even took a moment to consider, hear her out. “People _died,_ last time. Nature isn’t meant to be contained in the way that you guys do it over there. Bringing dinosaurs back from the dead does nobody any good,” Owen said simply, his back still to her. “For your information, Mr Grady, the resort that stands on Isla Nublar today is _significantly_ different to its predecessor. Bringing the park back to life was not a task that was taken on lightly; and I should know, I’ve been there since the revival began,” Claire defended herself, enraged by the fact he still wouldn’t face her. “Oh, so daddy _clearly_ paid for the best business school in town,” Owen muttered sarcastically, finally turning to roll his eyes.

Something in Claire snapped, the colour rising in her cheeks as his eyes flashed towards her. “You know what? You’re an _asshole_ ,” she said maliciously, scraping her chair back from the table. “You do _not_ get to speak to me like that. Thankyou for the food. I think I’ll walk,” she muttered; tugging on her shoes, snatching her holdall from beside her and heading for the door. “Claire, _wait,_ “ she could hear Owen call from behind her, sighing as he dumped the glass he was drying on the side. Claire ignored him. Prepared for the terrain this time, her sneakers bounced purposefully over the dirt as the rage swelled inside her. Claire had struggled her whole life to be taken seriously; a woman from a broken home attempting to make a name for herself in business was never going to be easy. As a result; she had tough skin, insults and derogatory comments slipping off her. _This?_ It got to her. She was _sick_ of the same belittling treatment from guys like Owen Grady.

“Claire!” Owen called after her again, urgent and demanding, and still she didn’t turn. She had no plan, no idea of how she’d make it away from the farm. She had no car, a dead cellphone; and _worst_ of all, the sky was worsening above her. Claire should’ve known; the air had been too stifling, simply begging for a storm to breathe, confirmed by Owen merely an hour ago in passing. The first drops of rain landed on her skin as Owen reached her, his hand tugging at her arm. “Don’t touch me!” She seethed, turning round to watch his face turn ashen. “Claire – Ms Dearing – I’m _sorry,”_ he said, his eyes blown wide with pleading. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was out of line,” he admitted. “Damn right you were. I don’t really care for excuses,” Claire muttered, tearing herself from his grip. The rain began to fall harder; her hair sluiced around her face, suit sticking to her helplessly. 

“Please, Claire, I really am sorry. I know I’m a jerk –“ he began, shouting a little to make himself heard above the downpour, his hair flattening against his golden skin. “You don’t know me. You don’t know me _at all_ , nor the reasons for why I do what I do. What makes you think you can say something like that to me?” Claire half-yelled, the weather stoking her outburst of anger. She hadn’t felt rage like it for years, and she’d heard a lot worse in her time. Something about his face; his eyes, the warmth that joked around there… Claire thought she could trust him, if she ever had to. She never expected Owen to be like this; as she looked at him, to be so stingingly harsh in the same way as so many other timewasters had in her life. 

“It’s a defence mechanism. It’s what happens when I get nervous – it doesn’t happen a lot, and I know it’s not an excuse,” he muttered; defeated, reaching out a hand to her again, and dropping it when she flinched. “Well, you better work on that one, because it’s not doing you any favours, Mr Grady,” Claire said shortly; attempting to brush her now drenched hair from her eyes, not letting her gaze drop. Owen shook his head again; this time as an expression of wonder, his chest falling as he exhaled. “You really are somethin’, aren’t you?” He said softly, the reverence of his tone reaching her even through the storm. She said nothing.

“ _Please_ , Claire,” he murmured, moving closer slowly, as though she were a skittish mare. “I’m just not that great with people anymore,” he sighed. “I’m a little out of practice. I know that doesn’t excuse what I said to you, but you have to believe me here. I’m sorry,” he reached out another hand to her, resting it against her elbow, and Claire didn’t move. _So, he’s fucked up. Just like you,_ a nasty voice echoed in her mind. Something about the way he was looking at her made Claire want to grant Owen a second chance; because _god knows,_ life needed more of those. Who knows where she’d have been now if not. “ _Fine_ ,” she mumbled as a clap of thunder rolled out above them. “But _only_ because I’m likely to drown otherwise,” she rolled her eyes, and he smiled weakly, his fingertips still closed round her flesh; warm on her skin despite the chill of the downpour. “Thankyou,” he said quietly, and she knew he meant it. “It’s alright,” she murmured, the corners of her lips turning up despite themselves, “ _Owen._ ”  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite their shaky start, Owen and Claire find that they have more in common than they first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I should’ve waited a little longer to post this, but I’m like a kid at Christmas! Thankyou for the reblogs, likes and comments on the first part of this. It really means the world. Please, be kind. This is not my usual writing territory.. There’ll be one more part to this. Big loves!

_‘And there was nothing more attractive than a woman with focus in her eyes. To me, that was everything, and what brought me even closer was the way she showed it: with light and laughter and all things that bent the sky… That was true strength, and the perfect exchange from one lover to another.’_ \- RM Drake

Claire threaded her fingers through her soaked hair as she followed Owen through the door. Her clothes were stuck to her, as were his. Though she’d noticed already; Claire’s eyes failed to stop staring at the muscular expanse of his back, the thick workman’s shoulders so visible it were as though he was wearing nothing at all. She looked away pointedly, embarrassed by the rising flush in her cheeks. “You want to shower?” Owen asked; surprising her as he suddenly turned to face her, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair a little awkwardly. “What?!” Claire whispered, her eyes widening in shock. _Shower? Together?_ "As in, like, do you want to go to the bathroom and use my shower?” Owen asked again, a little slower, face contorted with confusion. “Oh, right, yeah. Of course. Totally,” Claire babbled, wringing her hands together. 

_A shower together… As IF that’s what he was insinuating!_ Owen raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “Okay, well, there’s towels in there,” he said, pointing to the bathroom opposite the kitchen. “Do you have any clothes you don’t mind getting a little messy?” He said, and it was Claire’s turn for an eyebrow raise. “And why on _earth_ would I need clothes like that?” She asked, and Owen chuckled. “When this rain clears up, I’m taking you for a tour around this place. You said you didn’t mind helping out,” he shrugged. “Indeed I did,” Claire agreed, “So, yes, I’ll probably have to borrow a shirt or something, if that’s okay.” Owen smiled. “Second draw of the dresser in my room,” he said, pointing to a door across the hallway. “Take your pick.”

The warm water felt heavenly cascading over her face and shoulders, washing away the rain and the stress of her arrival. Claire couldn’t help how absurd it felt; standing in a shower that belonged to a man she’d only known for a few hours, and already had a severe war of words with. Yet, that persistent feeling that Claire could trust Owen refused to go away. She knew; under the bravado, the awkwardness, the hostility, that there was something golden in him. She didn’t know why, though, and Claire hated that. In her life; she had everything worked out, there were no mysteries to contend with. Owen Grady, Claire contemplated as she combed through her hair, was the biggest challenge she’d ever encountered.

Claire’s hair began to curl about her face, and for once she found she couldn’t care any less for it. She decided to stay make-up free, if Owen’s plan for the day really was true. _It excited her a little_ , she mused as she pulled on the jeans she’d mercifully remembered to pack for her flight home. _Something out of her comfort zone_. Claire had chosen a plaid shirt from Owen’s drawer; partly because it looked to be a little smaller in size, probably fitting her better. She slipped it on, stalled for a second by the scent of the material. The same smell again; mint, leather, something like an aftershave. It was heady, powerful; Claire closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, her senses in disarray. _What the hell?!_

//

“I put the towels in the laundry basket,” Claire said, finding Owen in the kitchen, reading a newspaper. He looked up and towards her, his eyes widening a little, his mouth gaping open, and shut again. “That looks good on you,” he murmured, a finger indicating the shirt as he swallowed hard. “This?” Claire looked down at herself, plucking the material with her fingers lightly, “One of my first times wearing plaid. I have a feeling today is going to be full of firsts,” she laughed, noticing he’d changed, too, into a simple blue button down. Owen smiled, gazing for maybe a moment too long, fondness burning in his eyes.  He shook it off, cleared his throat. “The rain shouldn’t take too much longer to ease off,” he said. “You want a coffee, or anything?” He asked, and Claire shook her head. “A glass of water will do,” she replied, and followed him into the kitchen.

“Claire, honestly… About earlier. I was a complete ass,” Owen made to continue his apology, before Claire held her hand up with a small smile. “You were,” she nodded, “and maybe I was looking for an excuse to scream. I have to apologise a little on my part there, too,” she said quietly. Owen chuckled. “Accepted, ma’am.” Claire was leant against one of the countertops, watching the rain drive down the window panes, Owen passing her a glass. “So, Operations Manager, huh? That sounds like a pretty big deal,” he said, and Claire shrugged, sipping from her water. “It is,” she said simply. “The park can hold anything up to twenty thousand guests per day. We have Main Street, the surrounding resorts, and the attractions further out. It takes quite a lot of work,” she said, and Owen looked suitably impressed.

“I’ve never heard of Masrani Global before. Are they in the theme park business?” He asked. “Uh, Masrani’s main interests are oil and telecoms. Family fun parks are a new venture for their business. Simon is yet to invest in another. I think this is a sort of trial program,” she sighed. Owen whistled under his breath. “Must be a pretty expensive trial… What makes you say that, anyway?” He asked. Owen didn’t know the company, didn’t even know the park had been resurrected until today. Claire could trust him with her opinion. “To be honest, he was pretty damn clueless when he hired me. The board I had at my command was made up of rich, older businessmen, and it didn’t work for me,” Claire said lightly. “How so?” Owen leant back, his eyes glinting with humour. 

“Well, to start with, they had no idea how to market our products for our target consumers. Yes; we have scientists, archaeologists and palaeontologists visit us often, but that number is far outweighed by the families who consider a visit to Jurassic World the vacation of a lifetime. To make the park successful, to make the costs add up, we would need to exploit that.” Owen nodded, and Claire continued. “Some of them told me I had no idea what I was doing; or worse words to that effect. Most refused to support me. I had over half of them fired,” she murmured, and Owen laughed. “Damn straight,” he agreed. “I could tell Simon was a little unnerved, but to his credit, he trusted me. I began to hire the right people, plucking young kids - talented graphic designers, analysts and data controllers – straight from graduation. Combine their skill with a passion for the work they’re doing… Well, the numbers speak for themselves. They knew exactly how to engage with our consumers.”

“Lowery Cruthers, for example. An essential asset to our Control Room. What he doesn’t know about the park, and how it works, really isn’t worth knowing. He came from a poor background, got into college on a scholarship and pure talent. I believe that sometimes, the people with no platform to be heard, often have the smartest things to say,” she smiled, and Owen nodded, again, encouraging her onwards. “I hired parents, too, people who spoke in our focus groups. Often struggling to make ends meet, I offered them a way to do what they were passionate about. Working moms, often overlooked in every interview they’d been to, suddenly found a new lease of life. We needed that domestic touch that comes with parenting,” Claire said. “How does it work? I mean, the parents that work for you?” Owen asked, and Claire felt her heart flutter at the intrigue on his face, the notion that he was so interested in what she was saying.

“Some came to the island – we have excellent living facilities available for staff. Most, however, remained here, stateside. Masrani developed a business network to enable us to stay connected. A few of them had actually just accompanied me to the conference I was at just yesterday,” she smiled, and Owen shook his head in awe. “Well I’ll be damned, Ms Dearing. It ain’t everyday that a genius walks through my door,” he chuckled, and Claire bit her lip to stop herself smiling like a fool. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed the rain dissipate, the clouds breaking, sunlight peering through wearily. “Would you look at that, huh? Just in time,” Owen exhaled, hands on his hips as he glanced out the windows, the meadows dewy with rain still. “You didn’t shower,” Claire said absent-mindedly, as her eyes were drawn to the now-dry fabric of his shirt. “Nah. I’ll need to do that later, especially after what I have in mind,” he laughed mirthlessly, and Claire rolled her eyes, following him once more out of the house. 

//

One thing that Claire was beginning to realise about Owen Grady was that he made her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. Her very being was warm with the humour he showered over them both; mocking her sneakers, as she laughed at the Stetson he’d put on as they left. “You’re a true cowboy,” she’d giggled, and Owen had smirked, taking it, as he said, as a compliment. He was walking them back toward the barn and stabling block, and Claire’s suspicions were confirmed. “Are we going to go horseback riding?” She asked, trying to contain the childlike excitement tugging at her heart. “We sure are,” Owen laughed, pulling open the giant door with ease and gesturing to her to go inside. “How many horses do you have here?” She asked as Owen began to gather tack together, lifting a brown leather saddle into his arms. “We can have up to ten at any one time. My training methods are very intensive, so I try not to take on any more than that. It kinda operates on a rotational basis,” he shrugged. “I’ve got four girls of my own, though,” he grinned, motioning to Claire to pick up the bridle on the worktop next to her and lay it over the saddle. She obliged, smiling at the glee on his face. “Four girls? You sound like a proud father,” she laughed, and he nodded. “I am. They kick my ass, but I love ‘em to pieces,” he said, totally serious, gesturing her to follow him with a nod of his head. 

“I took the liberty of getting a little organised whilst you were showering. I want to introduce you to them,” Claire could hear him saying as she followed him across the hard ground, his boots not bouncing as much as her sneakers. The sun was rising high into the midday sky, now, no cloud in sight. She was grateful for the forgiving fit of Owen’s shirt as she rolled the sleeves toward her elbows purposefully. Owen dug his hand into a barrel of what must’ve been very tempting food for the horses, for as soon as he began offering it out and clicking his tongue, four magnificent animals came to rest their heads over the stable doors. All of them rubbed their noses into Owen’s hand as he reached them in turn, chuckling a little here and there, and offered them food. “What are their names?” Claire asked, curious. “Well, you got Charlie,” he said, gesturing to the strawberry roan at the end of the line; “There’s Echo,” he nodded toward the chestnut, “Here’s Delta,” another nod toward the grey Claire had seen him leading earlier, “and this one’s called Blue,” he said softly, stopping to pull tenderly at the forelock on the beautiful black horse Claire had met in the barn.

“Not Beta?” Claire laughed gently, his use of the phonetic alphabet having not gone unnoticed. Owen smirked, opening Blue’s stable door. “She knows as much, don’t you worry about that. It’s asking for trouble calling her it by name,” he said. “I call her Blue because, I swear to god, when the sun hits her coat just right, she glows,” he chuckled, and Claire smiled, lost for words. Owen began to tack the horse up, Claire watching intently. “Now, I don’t mind helping to introduce ya to the basics of riding. I’m a great teacher,” he grinned.  “I know how to ride a horse, Owen,” Claire scoffed unceremoniously, eyes rolling. “Me and my sister went trekking when we were younger,” she said, flicking her hair off her shoulder self-consciously, trying to brush off his intense gaze. “Oh,” Owen smirked, resting his hands on his hips as he sauntered towards her. “We’ve got an expert here, huh?” Claire could feel her face turning sour as he teased her. “I never said that,” she muttered, falsely examining her nails. “Hey,” Owen chuckled, poking her lightly in the arm. “I was just messin’ with ya.” Claire hid her face behind her curtain of now-wildly curling hair, attempting to mask her shy smile. It was infectious around him.

“Alright, now, I’m gonna give you a leg up,” Owen said purposefully, altering Blue’s bridle a little before coming to stand next to her. His warmth and scent were so close, so painfully intoxicating. She wasn’t a particularly short woman, but Claire felt truly dwarfed by the muscle barely contained in the shirt and jeans next to her. It was deliciously intimidating. She looked away, running a hand over Blue’s smooth spine. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Will she… Will she be okay with this? With me?” Claire asked uncertainly, teeth tugging her lower lip as she dragged her eyes back to Owen. “Blue?” He asked, humour dancing in his ocean eyes. “She’ll be fine. She doesn’t scare me,” Owen winked, and Claire felt something swoop low in her belly, and chose pointedly to ignore the betrayal of her body. “Put this on. I don’t want you getting burnt,” he said, lifting his Stetson onto her head. 

“Oh, no, Owen – I _couldn’t_ …” Claire began to protest, before he placed a finger against her lips. “My god, woman. After all we’ve spoken about today… For once, just accept I might know about something a little more than you do. The back of your neck will burn, otherwise. We don’t want that,” he laughed. “Plus, it suits you. You look cute,” Owen smirked, and Claire rolled her eyes, hoping that the blush flowering in her cheeks could be associated with the already sweating heat she hadn’t yet acclimatised to. “Ready?!” Owen asked, eyes as bright and eager as a child’s, his hair curling a little, finding freedom without the confines of the hat. He motioned with a clasp of his hand, ready seemingly for her foot to lift her onto Blue. “No, no. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Claire said through gritted teeth, her determined streak rearing its head. With Owen stood watching in awe, folding his arms over his chest; Claire led Blue over to the mounting block, swinging herself over with ease.

“I thought you said you _weren’t_ an expert?” Owen mused as he strolled over, smiling as his eyes narrowed. “A girl can try,” Claire laughed flirtatiously, spurred on by the amazement in his expression. Owen shrugged, before unbuttoning his shirt and laying it around his neck; draping it across his broad shoulders as he adjusted the reins a little more at her knee. It took all Claire’s will not to openly stare. She knew Owen was physically fit – _hell_ , you only needed to be seated across him at lunch to know that. He could barely fit himself in a chair, the denim of his jeans snug against his crushing thighs. His chest was a broad, barrelled plane; the muscles of his shoulders finely defined under his deeply golden skin. A smattering of hair faded out towards his abs, rippling in the sunlight as he grappled with the leather. 

Claire was barely aware of Owen swinging himself up casually behind her, settling himself with practised ease upon the horse’s back. “Woah, what’s happening here?! Aren’t you going to ride another horse?” Claire fretted, panicked by the wall of muscled flesh she felt pressed so close to her. His heat seeped into her skin, even through her shirt. “Blue is my prized possession. I think it would be best I keep an eye on ya,” he said, and she could feel his gravelly voice so close it was as though he was inside her head, his breath warm on her shoulder. His hands came round her waist to settle over hers on the reins, and Claire was once again taken aback by the sheer size difference between them. Her pale, slender hands were swamped by his large, calloused ones; tanned and streaked with dirt, yet still so gentle as he took control.

“This feel okay?” Owen asked a little uncertainly, in terms of their positioning. Claire merely nodded her head; unsure of how her voice would project. She was certain it would barely be a squeak, his proximity causing her head to spin. Owen clicked his tongue, gently squeezing Blue’s sides, and they set off out of the yard and along the track running past the meadows. It was gorgeous; utterly beautiful, the storm having cleared the air – the sun hanging lazily in the sky as the earth basked in the warmth. Birds sung in the sweet heat, the other horses in the field flicking their tails lazily at the flies. It was completely serene; enough for them to ride in silence for a while, Claire’s breathing slowing down, her initial panic dissipating as she leant back slightly into Owen’s embrace.

“Why do you live alone?” Claire asked tentatively after a few moments. “Humans are an overrated species,” he chuckled after a while, and Claire felt it again; the reverberations of his deep laughter echoing about her body as they were pressed so close together, wondering whether it was the disappearance of his wife that had hurt him to that extent. “After Dad died… It was just easy to keep it going on my own. Kristen – my ex-wife – the lifestyle wasn’t for her. I was a fool for thinking it was,” he sighed, and Claire wondered if she should pry anymore. “Were you married long?” She half-whispered. “About two years. Some mutual friends set us up. It wasn’t right from the start,” he said simply, and Claire could hear the sadness in his voice, and it pained her. “I’m sorry,” Claire said quietly, and she felt Owen’s muscles shift as he shrugged. “S’okay. I’m over it, and I’m sure she is too,” he sighed.

“I’m never truly alone,” he said. “I’ve had the girls since they were just foals, y’know? They can stand up unaided just one hour after birth. Isn’t that amazing?” He said wistfully, and Claire nodded in agreement, the brim of the hat tipping over her eyes slightly. “The kids that come from the town to help out are great, too. I get to stay in bed on Saturday mornings when they take over the duties,” Owen continued, and Claire could almost feel his grin. “It’s good for the soul.” Claire felt as though she could almost fall asleep; Blue’s rhythmic, lulling steps beneath them, the sunlight kissing her skin, Owen’s steady breathing gentle on her neck. It was so quiet… Claire felt more at peace than she could ever remember. Everything fell away; her broken car, her stranded predicament, her schedule when she returned to the park… Claire’s mind felt removed from everything apart from the rolling meadows and blue sky before her. 

“What about you? Do you live alone, over at Jurassic World?” Owen asked. “Isla Nublar,” Claire corrected him jokingly. “Yeah, I do. I have ever since Simon came and recruited me just before my graduation. At Harvard. He offered me an internship, and I never looked back. My sister calls me an island, and she has every right to. I think I’ve seen my nephews twice since they were born,” she laughed a little sadly. Owen’s hands, still over hers, squeezed gently. Claire felt that same sensation bounding about her belly, hoping he hadn’t detected her sharp intake of breath. She thought she was going half-insane – the man barely had to touch her, and her nerves jangled, the hairs on her neck darting to attention. “Alright, now, you ready to have some real fun?” Owen asked, shaking  Claire from her reverie. “What do you mean?!” Claire panicked, her fingers furling even tighter into the horse’s mane. “Don’t panic,” Owen chuckled. “I got you.” With a gentle squeeze from him to her sides; Blue came to life, her pace quickening underneath them, cantering gently through the sweeping grasses. It was exhilarating; the breeze rustling through Claire’s hair, knowing she was safe in Owen’s arms. She began to laugh; her smile so wide her cheeks ached. Claire could feel Owen laughing behind her, too, but not at her. With her. She recognised his joy in being able to engage somebody entirely new in his passion; his company, and she was in no position to deny him. 

//

They toured the entire farm; Owen pointing out its many different features as Blue led them slowly past. Another huge barn housing the cattle under Owen’s control; two of the kids from the town he’d spoken about waving in a friendly manner toward them. “This’ll be all anyone can talk about for the next few weeks,” Owen laughed darkly. “You think so?” Claire asked, amused. “Owen Grady and a pretty lady on his favourite horse? The one he _never_ lets anybody else tend to, let alone ride? Honey, it’ll be front page news,” he chuckled, and Claire shrugged. They began to climb the valley back toward the main house, and the stables. “So what makes your training of the horses so unusual?”Claire asked, and Owen exhaled heavily behind her. “Well, I believe that the mental needs of the animals are to be respected just as much as the physical. Too much money these days is spent on ridiculous methods of keeping them in their prime shape, without any concern for their actual wellbeing.”

“At the end of the day, an unhappy horse won’t run. For some of them, it’s fear of the gate. Others… It’s the noise, the colours… Everything about the actual race day. I – my family – we’ve worked to combat that. It’s about communicating with the animal on a deeper level; exposing them to their fears so they learn to face it.” Now it was Claire’s turn to be impressed by his career. “And does it work?” She asked tentatively. “We’ve had more derby winners than I can count,” he laughed, and Claire shook her head at the return of his light-hearted arrogance, “so you tell me.” Claire considered for a moment. “So… You and the horses. You think you can understand one another? Like, you can control them?” Owen’s hands shifted on the reins a little in front of her. “It’s not about control. I respect them, and in turn, they allow me to form a relationship based on trust,” he murmured. “I can’t take credit. My grandfather taught my father, who then taught me.” Silence followed for a few more moments. “Will you teach your son one day?” Claire whispered, and she felt Owen still slightly. “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” he said quietly. “Now tell me: which do the kids find scarier, the velociraptors or the T-Rex? I always leaned more towards the T-Rex when I was little,” Owen chuckled, and Claire followed suit, the sudden tension evaporating between them. They bickered and bantered the whole ride home to the house; discovering they were both, among several other things, _Scary Movie_ fans, believers in alien life and avid fans of the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company restaurants. Owen asked her questions nobody had ever bothered to ask before; and Claire realised why he was so good at his job. He was opening her up, breaking down the walls she’d built so early in her life to keep everybody out. 

//

Once he’d ensured Blue and the girls were comfortable again, Owen buttoned his shirt and led Claire back inside the house, away from the early evening light. They passed through a room Claire hadn’t yet been in; it looked to be a living area, though it didn’t seem to be used for that purpose. There was a slight dust gathering on the television set, and the couches. Claire’s attention was drawn to the many photo frames scattered about the room, particularly the one on the cabinet next to her that seemed to take prominence. It was a faded photo, creased in places, clearly frequenting many frames before. It depicted three men, all on horses. They wore hats, the same leather brown that Owen wore, the one she’d just taken off, the sunlight beating down on them; and Claire could see the grins on their weathered faces before she’d even picked it up for closer inspection. “Is that _you?!_ ” She asked incredulously, pointing to the seemingly youngest man in the photo. He certainly had Owen’s features: his eyes, full of mischief and mirth, a laugh caressing his expression. So young, and so carefree. Dirty dark-blonde hair spilled out from under the hat in wild curls, and Claire could see the glint of a ring in his ear.

Owen chuckled beside her. “Sure is. God, how crazy my hair was back then,” he laughed. “Forget the hair,” Claire muttered, although she had no intention of doing so, “Is that an earring?!” Owen squinted at the photo, before nodding in confirmation. Claire spluttered with laughter. “Hey, it was the nineties! Everybody did crazy shit back then,” he said, shaking his head. “Not me,” Claire shrugged, still smiling at the scene before her. “No. I bet you were a good girl,” Owen murmured, and although she didn’t lift her eyes, Claire knew he was watching her. Her spine tingled involuntarily at his words. “Is that your father?” Claire asked in an attempt to slice the tension, pointing at the man to Owen’s right. If so; Owen had clearly inherited his looks. The man had the same deep-set green eyes, twinkling at her from the photograph; his strong jawline and creeping facial hair.

“Yeah,” Owen sighed, running a hand through his hair ruefully. “That’s Dad, and Grandpa,” he motioned to the third man in the photo, the oldest with a greying moustache and kind face. “My Grandma took the photo,” he said quietly. “It was just the four of us out here. My grandma… She was awesome. She’d make the best pies you’d ever eat – sweet or savoury. The three of them raised me together; they taught me everything I know. I was born riding, singing, and cooking great food.” Claire said nothing; visions of a golden-haired child atop his first pony, following his father dutifully out into the sunset fields. She could see it so vividly; almost smelling the summer air, bearing witness to a child’s innocent giggle. 

“All over now, of course. They all died within two years of one another. Pretty shit,” he muttered darkly, and Claire placed the frame back in its place and turned to him. “I can imagine,” she offered softly as he smiled wearily back. “What about your mom?” She asked, and Owen sighed heavily again. “There were problems between her and Dad. I don’t think she was ever in the right frame of mind to have a kid. She discharged herself from the hospital a few hours after I was born when he went home to get a change of clothes, and we never saw her again,” he admitted with a casual roll of his shoulders. “Shit,” said Claire softly. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” He acknowledged her apology with a wry smile, before prompting her: “What about you?” Claire shrugged. “I’m an orphan. My parents were junkies. They found Karen and I when she was five, and I was three.” She didn’t think Owen needed to know the depths of her past; the fact the authorities had discovered the sisters three days after their parents had overdosed in their dingy apartment. 

“Woah,” Owen breathed, his eyes widening. “I’m sorry. That had to be pretty rough.” Claire twisted her fingers around one another, not used to talking about her personal life – especially the beginning – so openly. But there was something so genuine, so warm and inviting about Owen, Claire felt obliged to. It was in stark contrast to her opinion of him hours before; the close companionship clearly something entirely new altogether for the both of them. They were learning: growing together slowly through stolen glances and shy smiles. It made her heart swell. “It’s okay,” Claire said. “I don’t really remember all that much. Our mother was beautiful, though. Karen has a photo of her in a locket… She says I take after her, with the hair and everything,” Claire smiled, her history unravelling in front of a man she barely knew. 

“You’re a beauty, that much is true,” Owen grinned unabashedly, and Claire felt herself flush scarlet. _Holy shit. This guy doesn’t hold back._ “You certainly have no filter,” she laughed, and he smirked mirthlessly. “Comes with the territory, baby. I’m probably lacking some serious social skills,” he chuckled, in that tone that made her belly squirm slightly for no sensible reason Claire could think of. “Seriously, though,” he murmured, “I’m sorry that happened to you. Truly.” His hand covered hers, squeezing softly, and Claire watched him swallow nervously. For a moment, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was having slightly the same affect on him. “Likewise,” she whispered, and couldn’t help but steal a glance at his lips, begging internally for one fleeting moment for Owen to kiss her, crush her to him until she couldn’t think straight anymore. _You’ve both just been talking about your fucked-up parents, and now you want to jump his bones. Get a hold of yourself._ “Well, two people like us… I’d say we should probably stick together,” he murmured, eyes glinting, “For survival.” Claire shook her head, her curls bouncing, as she smiled in the ever-dying light. “For survival… Huh. I like that.”

Claire was the one to suggest they sat on the couch together with a coffee. There was still some time to kill before the mechanic arrived, and she hadn’t forgotten Owen’s fleeting comment that he was ‘born singing’. She badgered him to go retrieve his guitar, which he did with a wry smile and a roll of his eyes after realising Claire wasn’t one to give up easily. “What do you wanna hear?” He asked, flopping back down beside her, instrument in hand. “The question is, Mr Grady,” she asked solemnly, “what can you play?” Owen laughed, strumming the guitar lightly. “Pretty much anything,” he grinned. Claire considered for a moment, tapping her fingers lightly on her coffee mug. “I like John Mayer,” Claire admitted shyly, and he grinned. “Then John Mayer the lady shall have,” he said, cleared his throat and began to play. Claire recognised the opening notes of his cover of _Free Fallin’,_ and Owen began to sing; his voice gravelly and full of emotion. Claire was utterly transfixed; his talents seemingly knowing no bounds. They left the world behind for a moment, she was sure, the sky darkening outside the window, Owen’s voice carrying them somewhere else entirely.

The song came to an end, the coffee forgotten in Claire’s hands. The two of them gazed at one another for a moment, Claire temporarily speechless. “Uh, I’m a little rusty, I’ll admit. I haven’t had anyone to play to for a while,” Owen laughed weakly, running a hand through his hair. “No – God, Owen, that was _perfect,_ ” Claire murmured, reaching out a hand tentatively to rest over his own. “You think so?” Owen asked quietly, his green eyes wide. Claire nodded; though inside she was terrified. She’d known the man not twenty-four hours, yet something had stirred within her, something that had lain dormant for years. His voice, his touch, his very presence… She couldn’t explain it. She’d never felt a connection – or _chemistry_ \- like it with anyone else. The only thing that stopped her from thinking she was bordering on the line of insanity was the fact she couldn’t help but think Owen felt the same, too. Claire wasn’t one for spontaneity; it had never fit in to her ordered life. Damn it, she was thirty-two years old, and something about Owen Grady made her want to throw caution to the winds. They’d fought, become friends and she was almost certain she’d fallen for him.  Claire was about to open her mouth to say as much, to break the tension as Owen readied to put the guitar away, when a knock on the door startled both of them. Owen checked his watch. “That’ll be the mechanic,” he said awkwardly, offering her a hand off the couch. 

//

“The cheque will be sent to the address you gave us. Will that be all for you today, Ms Dearing?” the mechanic smiled politely. “Yes, thanks so much for your help,” Claire smiled weakly in return. The kindly man clambered into his tow truck and set off, dust swirling into the darkening sky. Her mind was burning, screaming; every word she hadn’t said to Owen was throbbing insistently. A silence hung between them, charged and intensified as he stood beside her. Owen cleared his throat, clearly on the verge of bidding Claire an awkward farewell, and she snapped. She moved away from him, desperate to cling onto whatever it was for just a moment longer. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. Owen rubbed his hands awkwardly on his pants as Claire pointlessly inspected the car; avoiding his gaze and whatever it was he wanted to say to her. “Well, looks like he did a great job,” she mumbled, plastering a smile across her face as best she could as she turned to face Owen, resting her back against the car. “Sure did. Towed it to ya, too” he offered in return, a grin tugging at his lips a little, but never reaching his eyes. What was there to say? Why could neither of them say it? She barely knew him, yet in the time they had spent together… She had opened up to a stranger more than she’d ever done to people she knew. 

Claire didn’t hear his boots softly advance on the ground towards her. She was wholly unprepared for his lips to capture hers possessively as she turned her head. Owen tilted her head back, his hands everywhere and all at once. Fingers threaded delicately through her hair, the others against her neck, thumb stroking the hollow of her throat. Claire had never in her life been kissed so passionately; she hummed in unbridled pleasure as his tongue slipped past her lips relentlessly, dancing against her own. She felt her very being weakening as the kiss deepened; her mind telling her that she shouldn’t, her limbs holding her together. Owen was doing away with it all; destroying every defence in his path, taking her as his own, and she wouldn’t stop him even if she had the power to.

“This isn’t right,” Claire moaned, her breathing strangled, “I have to go.” Owen tilted her head back gently; her body flush against his, kisses eager for her throat. “Mmm,” he murmured in agreement against her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone before lips took their place. “But you’re not gonna,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkening as he lifted his head. “No?” Claire whispered, chest heaving, heart rate spiking every second he stared at her. “Hell no, baby,” Owen said simply; and Claire felt her knees would buckle, but he gathered her into his arms. Her legs locked round his waist, fingers carding through his hair as Owen pressed another urgent kiss to her skin, turning and carrying her inside.

Claire barely remembered entering his bedroom; apart from the fact it was decorated beautifully, all dark oak panels and pure white sheets. Owen laid her down carefully; tearing his shirt off, moving over her as his lips continued their journey south. It was too good to be true. It had to be. “Owen,” she hesitated, fear catching in her throat. He shifted immediately to sit back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair nervously, his face folorn. “Shit, Claire. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” he began to mutter, shaking his head, before Claire took his hands in her own. “No, it’s okay. You’ll just have to bear with me a little. I’m… Not very good at this,” she exhaled, a great shuddering breath; nerves and exhilaration intertwining in her veins. Owen smiled, his sensual eyes narrowing in the low light, glinting at her from his handsome face. “Neither am I,” he whispered, placing one hand next to her shoulder; the other thumb tipping her chin a little downwards, enough to part her lips, his tongue sliding against once more as Claire almost purred in surprise. For the first time since they’d met, Claire knew he was lying to her.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality sets in as Claire faces the fact she had to leave the ranch - and Owen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, this is it. The last part to this fic. Joke: there will be an epilogue, because Lucy’s put too many ideas in my head. I hope y'all (whoever is left?!) enjoys this.. It’s been my favourite ever piece to write. It’s probably awful but it’s the best I can do right now. I love these two, and this AU. Enjoy.

_“A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life.”_ **Elizabeth Gilbert: Eat, Pray, Love.**

The ranch looked different in the moonlight. The lush green grasses were now bathed in black and silver as the clouds passed, the stars glinting in the vast dark sea of the sky. Claire’s hands twisted around the hem of the camisole she’d taken from her case as she looked out of the window from the kitchen, the very same place she’d been stood with Owen mere hours before. Though, everything was different now, just like the view. They’d shared their hearts, and his bed. There was no going back. Though they barely knew one another as people; she understood that something had occurred between them on a deeper level. _Sometimes you just know_ , Karen had told Claire, and she’d scoffed at her sister. She’d been proven wrong. But what Claire knew exactly was still a mystery to her. Love, or lust? _Both_? Neither, when dawn broke? A fleeting ship passing in the night?

“I thought you’d skipped out on me,” Owen growled into her ear; startling her, and Claire could feel his grin shamelessly seeping into her skin. His arms circled her, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to her temple. Claire was sated; deliciously exhausted, her skin reddened and beautifully bruised in places from his passionate assault. She’d never felt more worshipped in her life. The men she’d been with before Owen… Claire realised now she’d never properly just been held before, like _this._ Like she was perhaps the most precious thing in the universe.  Claire laughed quietly, leaning back into his embrace. “No,” she mused, kissing his bicep softly. “I just couldn’t sleep. On the island, I’m surrounded by twenty thousand other people and a couple of dinosaurs,” she sighed, and Owen’s chuckle melted through her. “Hopefully not in your bedroom,” he said, and Claire laughed again, her hands shifting over his. “I knew you weren’t that much of a good girl,” Owen said, his tone low as he moved to trace the outline of the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. 

She’d been eighteen, and drunk. She’d never really thought about it, but Claire supposed that yes; that was her one, small streak of rebellion. He pressed a kiss to the ink, and she smiled. They were both silent for a moment; and Claire didn’t find it difficult, or awkward as it had been hours before. She was happy standing that way; with Owen, just the two of them. She wanted to pause the moment, hold it close for a while. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since she’d stumbled down his driveway; her mind wound tightly into a coil, heart shut off to most emotion. He was changing that already – they were aiding one another, setting sail for a different life. The idea scared her half to death, but it wasn’t enough to make her leave. _Yet._ The whole experience had felt like a dream, and Claire had discovered more about herself than she’d ever bargained for. Reality was sinking in, though, and she had to face the fact that when tomorrow came, she’d be making her plans to leave.

“I don’t want you to go,” Owen murmured, interrupting Claire’s reverie. His lips trailed almost imperceptibly along her neck, though she was far too tuned into his touch to miss it. He rolled her earlobe between his teeth gently before kissing her skin; softly, slowly, until Claire felt her knees begin to tremble. His hands carefully delved beneath her camisole, large hands skating across her belly, fingertips spiking the heated blood beneath her skin. Claire’s waist fit between the span so easily. His hands rested against her ribs, now, and she was certain Owen could feel the rapid staccato of her breathing, the result of even his lightest touch igniting desire within her. His thumbs deftly stroked the underside of her breasts, and Claire found she couldn’t help herself.

Her resolve was crumbling; breath hitching, pulse quickening as Owen continued to lavish her skin. “Then make me stay,” Claire whispered into the night, words ragged as she turned to crash her lips against his as he freed her from her clothing with ease. “That’s the plan,” he hummed, and Claire could feel his grin as his teeth tugged gently at her lower lip, his hands everywhere over her bare flesh.

//

Sunlight burnt a little at her eyes as Claire rubbed them; unsure of the heavy pressure weighting down on her from somewhere. Owen’s arm was slung across her waist, keeping her close throughout the night. Her silk camisole and shorts had been unsurprisingly left behind in the kitchen; and Claire marvelled for a moment at the contrast in colours before her eyes. His hand; so large as it rested against her bare stomach, was of a golden brown tone, covered in scratches, scars and calluses. Her skin in comparison was pale and unblemished, their bodies rising as one, sleepy breathing on a quiet Saturday morning. Claire stirred slightly; stretching her legs out a little, and Owen groaned in protest behind her.

“Do you think this was a mistake?” Claire whispered hurriedly, spilling her thoughts in the open, the question frozen in the lazy morning air. She half-hoped Owen would hear her, and hoped he didn’t at the same time. Owen laughed slowly in her ear, winding his grip around her even tighter, strong muscles of his arms no match for Claire. “Life is full of intelligent and inspiring philosophies,” he murmured, “but my favourite of all has to be: ‘ _the first time, it’s a mistake, the second time: it’s a choice_.’” Claire stilled, processing his words. “And, baby; I’m sure the same can be said for the _third_ time,” he moved to press a kiss to her neck, “the _fourth_ time,” he nipped gently at her skin, “probably even the _fifth,”_ he chuckled, and Claire smiled despite herself, shaking her head and digging him in the ribs playfully. 

Claire wriggled free from his relaxed muscles and turned over to face Owen, propping herself up on one elbow, dragging the sheet around herself shyly. His hair was rumpled slightly, his facial hair a little thicker, expression still drowsy with sleep, a flicker of flirtatiousness still remaining as he gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “Was it really five times?” Claire asked sincerely, hating the blush creeping along her cheeks, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself laughing. “It really was,” Owen said tenderly, reaching out a hand and brushing away a tendril of hair from her face, looping it behind her ear. Suddenly the humour in his eyes had been replaced with something else entirely; Claire thought she recognised it as longing, because she felt it too. She wanted to stay here, in Owen’s arms, in his bed, his home, for as long as she possibly could.

She loved her Jurassic empire to pieces; a business she’d built with little to no faith in her plans. It was her baby, her _life_ ; and she didn’t know any different. Yet, if somebody was to ask Claire right now, right in this moment, whether she’d drop it all to stay here for the rest of her days… Well, she’d have a tough time answering the question. She tried to brush it off as aftershocks from the emotions that had raged inside her since the previous morning, but Claire knew she was denying herself. Owen pulled her ever closer, his hand winding in her hair as she leant over him, kissing her softly. “Breakfast?” Owen asked a little breathlessly a while later. The hope was shining so brightly in his eyes that she could almost feel it coursing through her own veins. She nodded in agreement, and he left the bed, pulling Claire to her feet.

//

Claire rested her chin on her fist as she waited patiently at the breakfast bar, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. Owen was dressed in grey sweatpants; making pancakes and frying bacon. Fresh orange juice sat in a jug beside her. Claire smiled like a fool as she watched Owen dance around the kitchen with the frying pan to Thurston Lewis on the radio, winking at her now and again, asking about her forthcoming flight, the dream crashing slightly around their ears. “I’ll come with you to the airport,” he said simply, serving up her meal. “What about the ranch?” She asked, and he shrugged. “The kids have got it covered. Today’s my day off, remember?” Claire didn’t argue. Secretly, she’d been hoping he’d accompany her. She didn’t want to let go, not just yet, though she knew prolonging it would make it all the more difficult.

“And what does your day off _usually_ involve?” Claire asked, raising an eyebrow as she devoured a mouthful of the delicious breakfast. “You really wanna know?” Owen laughed heartily as he attacked his own meal. Claire nodded, and Owen’s shoulders slumped slightly as he exhaled. “Uh, I like to fish… Fight, and fuck,” he murmured, and Claire’s eyes widened as she choked unexpectedly on her food. Owen smacked her lightly on the back, rubbing circles on the skin above her camisole as she regained normal breathing. “TMI, huh?” He smirked. “What do you mean by _fight_?!” Claire asked incredulously, her eyes still watering. “Oh, uh, like boxing. Wrestling, in the gym downtown. I don’t just go out and pick fights,” he laughed, and Claire said nothing.

“The fishing down at the lake is solitary; which, like I said, I enjoy. That last pastime… I wouldn’t say it’s a common occurrence, and it never means shit to me,” he said quietly, and Claire stiffened beside him. “It wouldn’t be a problem if it did,” she replied, perhaps a little too instinctively, as Owens set down his knife and fork with a heavy sigh. “Look, Claire, that’s not how I meant it to come across,” he began, before Claire offered him a smile. “Owen, honestly; it’s fine. We barely know one another, and I’m not here to judge how you live, not least what you decide to do in your spare time,” she murmured, lifting her face towards his, his expression something of admiration. “I know you’re not. You haven’t judged me the entire time, not even when I told you why I live alone, or the way I train my horses. And there was me, shouting off about your career within the first hour of us meeting,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving hers.

“That was then,” Claire shrugged, her heart swelling a little at his words, the way he watched her with wonder. “Uhuh,” he said with a grin, “but this” he gestured between the two of them, “is different. It’s _different_ , Claire,” he pleaded, his hand reaching out gingerly as she allowed him to grip hers lightly. “When things went wrong with Kristen, I thought I was done with that part of my life. Every woman I’ve had since has been a form of release, for me. A way to clear my mind. But, you… Hell, I don’t know. This is corny, but meeting you feels as though my past has just been spent searching. Waiting. Until you came into my life with your broken shoes and your perfect, smart mouth,” Owen sighed, the beginnings of a smile appearing on his lips as he squeezed her hand. “I’ve never met a woman like you,” he admitted, “and I doubt I ever will again.” 

Claire turned, gripped his chin with her fingers, kissing him softly. She hoped it would convey all the words she wanted to say in return, the depth of emotion she already felt for him. The kiss deepened, Claire somehow moving into Owen’s lap, her fingers gripping his hair. “As much as I’d like to spend my remaining hours here this way, you still have a few things to show me,” she laughed breathlessly when they broke apart, Owen’s hands squeezing her thighs softly. “Right you are, ma’am. I believe, however, that I still need to take that shower,” He muttered, arching a brow. Claire shook her head as she giggled, watching him walk away from her, excited for what the day had in store for them both. 

//

Claire brushed a few damp strands from her face, the Stetson slipping over her brow slightly, humidity causing Owen’s plaid shirt to stick to her skin in the worst way. It was worth it, though, to be able to observe him in his element. Claire had never been one to shy from a challenge; not now, not ever, and she was determined to keep her promise of helping out to Owen. Even though it was technically his day off, he grumbled, he said he’d take Claire along to move the cattle for pasture after she refused to let it drop. The herd of animals was huge, bigger than she’d ever expected, and Owen had introduced her to two of the kids who came from the town to help out. Jonah and Drew were two well-mannered, spirited young men, the banter between them and Owen clear to see. They called her ‘ma’am’ and weren’t too great at making eye contact with her, but Claire didn’t mind, laughing at the jokes Owen cracked at their expense.

“They ain’t ever seen a woman like you down here before,” he had chuckled at their retreating backs as they went to saddle up the horses. “You’re far too beautiful for your own good,” he’d muttered, shaking his head. “They remind me of my nephews a little bit,” Claire laughed softly, faded memories of her sister’s sons flashing in her mind like motion picture. Of the many things Claire had learnt in her short time on the ranch, it was the importance of family. The look on Owen’s face as he had spoken about his own the previous day brought home to her the fact you don’t realise what you’ve got until it’s gone. The hat she was wearing – he’d found it for her that morning, said it had been his grandma’s. The reverence of which he talked about the woman spoke volumes. Making a mental note to phone Karen as soon as she got back to the park, Claire took Owen’s outstretched hand, comforted by the sensation of his skin against hers. 

//

Now, Owen was just ahead of her, Jonah and Drew leading the way. The cattle were co-operating, moving slowly, dust kicking into the air as Claire brought up the rear riding Delta. It was noisy, dirty and sweaty work – something Claire wasn’t used to, but was embracing with all she had. Owen was sat astride Blue, occasionally whistling loudly or shouting instructions. Claire could see the golden brown of his skin just above his shirt, his hair curling slightly underneath his hat. He kept a length of curled rope at his side, reins held in the other hand. He was a master of the art; ensuring no stragglers or dawdlers were left behind, guiding the animals slowly but surely along the track through the meadows. 

Owen dropped back to be beside her, arching a brow in surprise as he smirked. “Now, I may be bias,” he laughed, “but you’re doing an _excellent_ job for a beginner,” he winked devilishly, and Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s kinda fun, in a way,” she shrugged. “Teamwork can be, if you’ve got a great leader,” Owen said, and she glanced at him sideways through her lashes, a shy smile creeping over her face. “It’s so… You know, _stripped back_. I’ve never really done anything like it before,” she said, and Owen was quiet for a moment as she ran a hand through Delta’s mane. 

“Another first,” he murmured, the noise of the herd diminishing as they slowed even further. “So it is, Mr Grady. So it is,” she said wistfully, and Owen sighed beside her. “The guys can handle it from here,” he said, motioning to the boys up ahead. “Race ya back to the house?!” He laughed, skilfully turning Blue in the blink of an eye and cantering away from her. Claire followed suit, squeezing Delta’s sides and holding onto her hat for dear life as she urged the horse on faster. She soon caught up with Owen, the two of them riding beside one another in the long grass, laughing under the pure blue sky. Claire felt almost weightless; being with him made her feel as though she was walking on air, amongst the clouds, free of everything and anything that may bring her back to Earth.

//

Claire was suddenly exhausted when they returned to the stables; from the grind of driving the cattle for two hours and the exhilaration from the gallop across the meadows with Owen. She didn’t have to be at the airport until 5pm in the evening, and Claire thought of what she may have been doing with her time in Kentucky if her car had actually done the job it was supposed to. Probably holed up in her hotel room with a headache from staring at spreadsheets for too long, rubbing that spot on her temple that always seemed to bother her. Claire wouldn’t be _here_ ; the soft chuffing noises of Delta beneath her, the lazy sunshine warm on her back, Owen – already dismounted – and his sinful, gleeful face smirking up at her beneath the brim of his hat. She smiled wryly at the thought.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, bemused, as he took the reins from Claire, leading them over to the mounting block. “The wonders of modern engineering,” she smirked, and Owen held his hands up in defeat. “You know, you still haven’t said _it,_ ” Claire shrugged mischievously, delighting in the confusion on his face. His brow furrowed; dirt streaked on one side of his face as his green eyes watched her. “Said what?” He asked, and Claire rolled her eyes. “You know what. Say it,” she teased, “ _say it_ ,” she nudged him with the toe of her sneakers. Owen shook his head and chuckled darkly, and Claire knew she was in for it. He reached up and pulled her from Delta with ease, Claire squealing in mock protest as she landed in his arms. 

“ _Howdy_ , Ms Dearing,” he muttered, winking, and Claire almost shrieked with laughter. He set her down on her feet carefully. “You’re the _worst_ ,” he complained, pulling her close, his hands settling either side of her hips. “I know,” she admitted, and he kissed her gently, their hats bumping together only ever so slightly. Again and again, Claire was struck by how comfortable they were with one another, laughing and joking like a couple who had been together for years, not two people who were strangers still this time yesterday.

//

Claire showered, again, dressing in her jeans that had mercifully stayed dirt free, and in the pink jersey she’d brought to wear for her flight home. It was reaching late afternoon; Claire twisted her fingers round one another as she stared at her reflection. _Almost time_. The idea filled her with dread. It wasn’t just Owen, and the thought of leaving him. She’d experienced so many things at the ranch, in the mere hours she’d been there, done things so far out of her comfort zone it was almost laughable. She’d learned things about herself, too; that it was _okay_ to switch off, it was _okay_ to let her barriers down. It was okay to take that leap of faith, to hurtle into the unknown with a cocky cowboy at her side. She smiled. Claire liked herself a little better than she had before.

//

“Here she is,” Owen smiled when Claire met him in the kitchen, jumping up from his chair immediately and taking her hand. “I know we gotta leave soon. There’s just one last thing I gotta show you,” he said, leading her out of the house once more and over to the meadows. He had a blanket slung over his shoulder, and Claire followed with intrigue, finding relief in the fact that the midday heat had dissipated as early evening set in. The ranch was still picturesque; the birds singing their serenades, cries of the animals filling the still air once in a while, the moon appearing on the blue skyline. “You go first,” Owen interrupted her reverie, pointing to a ladder fixed to a tree trunk in front of them. “What on-“ Claire tried to argue, but Owen silenced her. “Trust me,” Owen smiled, and Claire inhaled deeply, nodding her agreement.

“I hope you’re behaving,” Claire laughed as she began to climb, Owen in pursuit just behind her. “Oh, when don’t I?” He laughed, “I’m merely enjoying the view.” Claire rolled her eyes at herself, finally hauling herself up onto the wooden floor surrounding the ladder. It was incredible – the branches had been removed; replaced with a platform treehouse complete with railings and jars with candles inside, Owen lighting them as Claire watched on. It was magical. “ _Woah,_ ” Claire breathed, and Owen shrugged. “Ain’t too bad, is it?” he asked. “It’s wonderful,” she said, the view of the ranch and all its lush, rolling green laid out before them. “I made it myself. Took a while, but it was a labour of love, you know?” Owen chuckled quietly. “I can see that,” Claire grinned, marvelling at the smooth, varnished wood beneath them as Owen laid the blanket down and beckoned her to sit against the tree with him. 

“Of all the women I’ve brought up here, you’ve been my favourite,” he laughed, and Claire stiffened beside him.  She wasn’t sure why, but the comment hurt, whereas before; during their breakfast discussion, it hadn’t really bothered her at all. It was a startling, _painful_ realisation; she’d fallen for him harder than she’d ever expected. The idea of Owen with other women stung, and Claire hated it. She hated the vulnerability, the raw emotion, an irrational form of betrayal she’d never felt before… He noticed her instinctively shift away from him, drawing her knees against her chest. “Hey, _hey_ … I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say,” he said, voice hoarse as he reached for her. 

“Maybe a little,” Claire nodded, not relenting to his touch, and Owen sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Claire, I thought you said you had no issues with my past –“ he began to argue, but Claire narrowed her eyes. “And that still stands. I don’t have a problem with what you’ve done, or who you’ve been with,” Claire said simply, and Owen exhaled heavily. “Well, it seems to me as though you kinda _do_ ,” he shrugged. “I just don’t _need_ to discuss it every few hours with you Owen –“ Claire grumbled, “Oh, _come on_ , Claire! That’s an exaggeration if I ever saw one,” his voice raised as he threw his hands in the air. “You know what I meant. It’s not difficult,” she whispered, looking straight ahead, avoiding his eyes, the view slightly tarnished now.

The tension was thick between them as Owen sat back against the wide trunk of the tree, the distance between them palpable. Claire hugged her knees; subconsciously keeping herself from reaching out for him. _Maybe she’d overreacted, maybe she hadn’t._ Claire was still trying to come to terms with the alarming depth of feeling she realised she had for him. With a sigh, she turned to face Owen, surprised to see him in the same position. “I’m sorry –“ they both began in the same breath, before smiles appeared on their faces, and Owen leant out to touch her once more. In one movement, she was pinned beneath him helplessly on the blanket as he kissed her by way of an aplogy. “If we keep fighting like this, it’s _not_ going to work,” Claire huffed breathlessly a while later, frustrated as he held her hands together above her head. “Oh, on the _contrary_ , Ms Dearing,” Owen smirked so devilishly Claire was glad she wasn’t standing, “that’s exactly why this _is_ going to work.”

“How have we got _here_ already?” Claire asked softly, threading her fingers through his hair. “When I woke up yesterday morning, I didn’t even know you existed,” she said. Owen paused his trail of kisses along her neck, lifting his head. “Huh. I knew _you_ did. I could feel it. I knew somethin’ great was coming my way,” he chuckled, and Claire pushed with all her might, flipping them over. “You are _so_ full of shit,” she laughed, her hands settling on his shoulders as his reached for her hips. “I’m sorry, though,” he said quietly, gazing up at her. “Like I said… I don’t know how this should work,” he muttered, gesturing between the two of them. Claire shifted to stand, pulling him up beside her. “I think we’re doing _great_ ,” she laughed, “so far.” She looked toward the view again, captured once more by it’s beauty.

“All my life, I’ve known that it’s okay to be alone. I mean; I had Karen, of course… But growing up, graduating, my life on Isla Nublar: I’ve always done things my _own_ way. I haven’t wanted or needed anybody beside me, you know?” Claire said quietly, Owen’s hands resting beside her own on the railing. Owen murmured his agreement, shifting slightly. “I still do believe that. Some people may go their whole lives with no real attachment to anybody, and it suits them. Maybe it’s better for them that way. God, I thought I was one of them, for sure,” Claire continued, digging her fingers a little into the wood beneath them. “I must have gone insane, surely, to think that my thought process of over twenty years can change in one day,” she smiled, turning to Owen, who was looking at her in that way; the smirk of admiration, the gaze full of wonder. “ _Definitely_ insane,” Owen chuckled, his voice low as he pulled her to him, his hands sliding around her waist, Claire’s wrapping round his neck. 

“The point I’m trying to make: it’s okay to be alone, like we both have been, but I don’t want to be. Not anymore,” she whispered. Her gaze travelled over Owen’s face; drinking him in, the sensual green eyes and golden skin. “It ain’t gonna be easy,” Owen remarked softly, brows raising as he smiled, his thumbs running circles over her skin. “But it’ll be worth it,” Claire shrugged in response, and he nodded, kissing her slowly. “You’ve made me smile more in the last day than I have in ten years, and I think that’s something worth holding on to,” Claire said shyly as Owen pulled her closer, his chuckle vibrating through her hair. “ _Only_ ten years? Baby, that’s too sweet of you,” he laughed, and Claire began to laugh, too, thankful for one more golden moment of happiness with him. 

//

The car journey to the airport was spent trying to organise a schedule of how they’d see one another. Claire remarked that she hadn’t taken more than a few days leave in her entire duration at the park, and Owen instantly invited her back to the ranch for as long as she could manage to get away. She was far more thrilled than she could ever let on. Part of Claire was eager for Owen to turn the car around and take them back; back to his home, his life, his bed. Claire would gladly join him there, though she knew she couldn’t. Rationally – the first time she’d thought that way in what felt like an age – they barely knew one another, so visits would have to suffice, though she knew the wait between them would be painful. The ranch had felt something like home; a piece to Claire she hadn’t known to be missing until now. Owen was not yet hers to hold, and yet she couldn’t let go.

Owen insisted on carrying her holdall into the terminal for her, though she protested that she could do just fine. He laughed. “I know you can,” he remarked, “but you don’t _have_ to.” Simon Masrani bounded over to them both, seemingly out of nowhere, and shook Claire’s shoulders gently. “Claire! Are you alright? I’ve tried calling you over _twenty_ times today!” He murmured, before noticing Owen stood just to her right. “Where have you been?” He asked, brows raising. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just been distracted. Mr Masrani, this is Owen Grady. He’s a racehorse trainer and cattle farmer here in Kentucky,” Claire said, and the men introduced themselves to one another.

“My rental car broke down, and Mr Grady was kind enough to offer me his hospitality while I waited for a mechanic,” Claire explained, hoping to god her face didn’t redden as she reminisced _every_ aspect of Owen’s hospitality at lightning speed. “Ah, I _see_. That makes perfect sense. Mr Grady… Racehorse training… How is that for you?” Masrani asked, genuinely intrigued; Claire knew for she had seen the same look on the man’s face several times in the past. His eyes lit up like a child’s at Christmas, and he had eyes for nobody else in the room. Both Claire and Masrani listened to Owen explain his methods in full, Claire just as transfixed as the other man, for it was the only aspect to Owen’s life he didn’t show her.

“As I said to Claire here… What I do, and the way in which I do it, is a little unusual. But I like to think my track record - and waiting list - speaks for itself, you know? Trust and respect forms the basis of almost every human relationship, and I’m not ignorant enough to believe it isn’t absolutely fundamental when it comes to man and beast, either,” Owen shrugged. “ _Fascinating,_ ” Masrani breathed, reaching out to shake Owen’s hand. “Mr Grady, I’m sure Ms Dearing has informed you of what it is we do over on Isla Nublar – why, you _must_ have heard of Jurassic World?” He asked, and Owen nodded with a wry smile. _He sure had now_ , Claire thought to herself. “We have a truly unique and groundbreaking opportunity opening at the park,” Masrani continued excitedly, and Claire’s ears pricked even further. This was nothing he had discussed with her. “Today, I’ve been finalising the last plans with InGen – a sister company we work with over at the park – to raise four velociraptors in captivity. Sisters, if you will. They will not be an attraction, no. They will be part of Project IBRIS – _Integrated Behavioural Raptor Intelligence Study_. And we are looking for someone with the perfect credentials to train them,” Masrani beamed at Owen breathlessly.

Claire took a moment to process his words. _Velociraptors. A secret project; one Masrani hadn’t consulted with her about._ But, for now, it paled into comparison with the idea of Owen potentially living on Isla Nublar with her. Cursing herself for her selfishness, she looked at Owen. He seemed to be fighting with himself internally somehow, before shrugging. “I appreciate it – honestly, I do. It sounds… Life changing. I just don’t know if I could commit to something like that right now, with the ranch to oversee. And I don’t know if I could morally allow myself to do something like that. I mean, with all due respect, sir, I appreciate what you guys do over there, but I don’t necessarily _agree_ with it,” Owen murmured, and Masrani nodded. “Well, Mr Grady, we’d love to hear from you either way. I’m sure Claire has your details,” he smiled. “If you can’t make up your mind… _Visit us_. See how you feel then,” he winked, outrageously, and made his excuses to leave, promising to meet Claire at the gate in twenty minutes. 

They watched Masrani walk away, Claire wanting to avoid eye contact. Her mind was whirring with possibilities regarding what Simon had said, and its implications. “So, I guess this is it,” she said, finally, unable to hide the blatant regret puncturing her voice, turning to face him. She begged it not to crack from emotion. “Uhuh,” Owen agreed as he smiled a little sadly, eyes twinkling. “Thank God your crappy rental car decided to die at the end of my drive,” he chuckled; folding his arms over one another – something Claire was glad for, because she wanted him to hold her, one final time. In her head, though, she knew if that happened, she’d never get on the plane. “I didn’t have you down as a religious person,” she laughed, and Owen shrugged. “I’m not, particularly. But I guess I spoke to whoever’s up there a few times when I felt alone. I said he probably owed me something, for the shit I went through. I guess he came up good,” he murmured, his blisteringly green eyes delving into her soul; Claire’s heart splintering at his words, hoping her smile would convey that she felt the same. To her horror, Claire felt tears burning; her throat closing with emotion. She looked away; outside the great glass windows, toward the sun high in the sky, trails from the planes decorating the air.

“I, uh, want you to have this,” Owen cleared his throat, and Claire looked to see him offering his Stetson; she hadn’t seen it in his grasp, the soft brown leather not much of a deeper colour than the hands it was held in. “It looks better on you, and I wouldn’t want you to leave without a souvenir,” he smirked, eyes narrowing as he dropped it onto her head gently. “Oh no, Owen, I _couldn’t,_ ” Claire protested, until Owen silenced her pleas with his lips, crushing them tenderly to her own; so fleetingly that it felt like a whisper against her, a slideshow of the moments they’d shared since they had met. The pressure was gone too soon, and Claire fought the urge to drag him back to her, to anchor herself to him with no intention of letting go.

“Hey, it’s not permanent. I’ll be coming to get it sooner or later,” he whispered, his thumbs skating softly over her cheekbones as Claire grasped his hands. “You’re considering it?! Masrani’s offer?” Claire asked breathlessly as she searched his face, watching the grin spread across his features. “I’m _considering_ it,” he nodded, laughing. “Either way, I need a vacation.” Owen drew himself to full height, folding Claire into him, and she breathed the scent of mint, leather and crushed leaves for the last time. “It’s a sign, Claire,” he sighed, voice full of hope. “A sign of better things to come.” Claire leant back; her hands in his hair one last time, kissing him as though her life depended on it, in a way so he wouldn’t forget her. 

//

She didn’t cry, and she was glad of it. Owen had waved until she couldn’t see him anymore, and thankfully she was distracted by Masrani and his thousands of new ideas for the next working season. Claire didn’t _want_ time to think about him, she didn’t want to wallow in the hole in her heart. The plane rose higher and higher into the darkening sky; and she watched the millions of cars speed along to highway, wondering where he was, what he was doing now, how in the hell they’d make this _thing_ work. Her life had been changed irrevocably by a cowboy with dirty hands, a beautiful heart and an open mind. The thought made her grin like a fool. Claire wasn’t sure if it was love. _Hell_ , she didn’t even know if the damned thing would ever make itself known to her. She did, though, believe that everybody had someone out there. A soulmate. Not somebody perfect; somebody a little rough round the edges, someone to work on. Somebody to call their own. She’d just been too patient in waiting.   



End file.
